Nigel Tranter - The Steps to the Empty Throne

“So says Edward now. But it was not so when Sir William Wallace so acted,” Bruce countered.

“He was in lawful arms against invaders.”

“He was a rebel!” de Sandale declared harshly.

“As were you all. All rebels. Worthy of death. But His Majesty was merciful.

Too merciful, it seems I He took you back into his peace. But when surrender was made, Wallace refused the King’s peace, Wilfully. With war over, he remained at war. An outlaw. He had rights, therefore. No call on mercy.”

“No call on mercy!” Lamberton repeated heavily.

“He was a brave man. If he should have received mercy, he did not plead for it—that I swear!”

“He received his deserts, my lord Bishop,” Master Bevercotes declared primly. He consulted his papers.

“Found guilty by the Court, the traitor Wallace was tied, naked and in chains, at the tails of horses, and dragged four miles through the streets of the city, to the much acclamation of the loyal populace. At Smithfield, he was part-hanged in his chains, and cut down while yet alive.

Thereupon he was disembowelled, and his entrails burned before his eyes.” The Chancellor moistened his lips, and raised his voice to over speak the snarling growl which was arising round that table.

“Thereafter the prisoner’s head was cut from his body. Then the limbs. The said head was affixed to a pole to be set on London Bridge. And the said limbs thus distributed-the right arm sent to Newcastle-upon-the-Tyne; the left arm to Berwick-upon-the Tweed; the right leg to St. John’s Town of Perth; and the left leg to Aberdeen. By order of the King’s Majesty.”

The tension in that draughty hall was tight as a bowstring, as men sat, scarcely breathing. Yet John of Brittany appeared to be completely impervious to it, or unaware of it. He was rustling amongst other papers.

“Yes,” he said, after an unbearable moment or two.

“Thank you, Master Chancellor. That is the matter of Wallace. For your information, my lords. Now we proceed to more urgent business. I think, first, this of the failure of much of the Church in this land to pay its share of the costs of the late war. My lord of St.

Andrews … ?”

The crash of Bruce’s chair falling over backwards as he thrust it from him, rising to his feet, brought Richmond to a sudden stop.

“My lord Lieutenant,” he said, thick-voiced.

“I pray to be excused from further attendance at this Council.”

Outraged, the other stared up at him.

“My lord—do I hear you aright? Excused … ? Or are you taken sick

… ?”

“Aye, sick! Well you say it. Sick at the evil that has been done.

I, for one, will have no further part in working with such monstrous rule and governance. You are Edward or England’s Lieutenant and representative. I can no longer act on your Council.”

“Robert I My lord …!” Lamberton’s warning, beseeching hand came up to grasp Bruce’s arm—and was roughly shaken off.

”Sir—this is beyond all!” Richmond declared.

“Have you lost your wits? Sit down, my lord …”

“No. I leave the loss of wits to you and yours! To your master and

kinsman, in especial I To have turned ravening savage and brute-beast

…!”

“Silence, sir!” De Sandale the Chamberlain was on his feet now, pointing.

“To so asperse His Majesty’s name! And in the presence of His Majesty’s Lieutenant! How dare you …!”

Bruce did not so much as glance at him.

“Wallace was a noble man. Not noble as we here are noble, perhaps—but nobler than any here by his deeds! A man all here should have been proud to call friend. And did not, to our shame! In him was the true spirit of this Scotland. And Edward Plantagenet dealt with him as he would not a dog!” Furiously he shouted down the protesting English.

“Wallace was no traitor. How could he be? To an English king, when he fought only for the Crown of Scotland? Which Crown … which Crown …” He faltered, as well he might, even wincing at the vice-like urgency of the Primate’s grip on his arm.

But he went on, a little differently.

“A traitor is traitor only to his country, or his friends, or to those that trust in him. Was Wallace ever traitor to his country? Was Edward ever his friend? Did Edward ever trust him? Some here might, by others, be named traitor. I have been! But not Wallace. And yet, he is treated worse than any murdering scullion!”

“You have run mad, my lord of Carrick!” Richmond said, as Bruce paused for breath.

“What you say is stark treason.”

“Mad? The madness is not mine, but Edward’s. Madness indeed.

Do you not see it? The folly of it, as well as the sin? The people of Scotland loved William Wallace. Better than any man who ever lived in this kingdom. As they do not love any here.

Edward, by this evil, will set every heart in Scotland ablaze against him. As all his burnings and slayings and conquests have not done. They are a strong, hard people, as Edward has learned.

This will turn them to steel. Against himself. Against his rule.

The blood shamefully shed at your Smithfield is but the first of a flood, I tell you! It will make ill ruling of this land, my lord of Richmond, that is certain. And I—I will not aid you to do it.” He made a final gesture with his hand.

“I have asked your permission to withdraw, my lord. Now I go.”

“Aye, go! Go, Earl of Carrick. Before I have my officers take you.

As I ought. Throw you into close ward …!”

Bruce did not answer, being already on his way to the door, with uncertain officers and clerks hesitating. It was John Comyn who interrupted.

“You must needs take Comyn also, then, my friend!” he said, rising” For once, Robert Bruce has the rights of it! I never conceived this Council of worth. I will no more serve on it, now, than he I, nor mine.” He looked down at the Earl of Buchan. The Constable, puffing and grunting, rose to his feet.

Despite Richmond’s protests, amidst a great scraping of chairs, the Council broke up in disorder.

Bruce found Comyn at his shoulder, in the passage outside.

“I

did not think it was in you to do it!” the latter said.

“Edward will not like it.”

“I do not do only what Edward likes.”

“You do much that Edward likes!”

Bruce swung on the man.

“You think so? Why then does Edward hate me? Tell me that, Comyn. He hates me almost as much as he hated Wallace. Why, if I do his will?”

The other looked at him searchingly.

“And you? You hate Edward?”

“Aye. I hate Edward. And all that he stands for.”

Lamberton was there, now.

“My lord-less loud! Those words could be a rope round your neck I If another such was needed! I advise that you put distance between yourself and this Stirling.

And as swiftly as you may.”

“Aye-do that, Bruce.” Comyn laughed.

“Hide, you! And if your South will not sufficiently hide you from Edward Plantagenet, come North I Come to Badenoch I Can I offer you fairer… ?”

But despite all the good advice, Bruce was still in Stirling town that night-and, oddly enough, at Lamberton’s urging. Indeed the Primate was his sole companion as they hurried through the dark, narrow streets, heads down against the of chill November rain.

Comyn was lodged in the Blackfriars’ Monastery, where one of his clan was Prior. Lamberton summoned the Prior to his own door, and required a private room and the Lord of Badenoch privily informed.

Comyn came presently. Although not actually the worse for liquor, clearly he had been drinking. He stood with his back to the door of the small sparsely-furnished chamber, eyeing his visitors curiously in the mellow lamplight.

”So soon!” he commented.

“Bruce takes refuge with Comyn.

already? From Edward’s wrath!”